


Watch the Queen Conquer

by FreshBrains



Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Community: pbam, Dom/sub, F/M, Kneeling, Oral Sex, POV Mariah, Porn Battle, Post-Season/Series 01, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Sometimes, when Shades finds the need to have anopinion, Mariah will remind him of his rightful place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle Prompt Stack 2 prompts: blurry power dynamics, charge, perform, table.

Sometimes, when Shades finds the need to have an _opinion_ , Mariah will remind him of his rightful place.

The jewel-red carpet on the loft floor of Harlem’s Paradise is soft and plush, cleaned religiously every night after bar close, and the sleek silver table and heavy chairs easily mask the sight of Shades crawling on his hands and knees towards the subtle spread of Mariah’s legs.

“Stop,” Mariah says, swirling the cherry around in her sidecar. Alex waits to her left; he’s a body man, not protection detail, but she won’t trust anyone else to keep a keen eye on things (and be discrete about what happens above the crowd). From his spot on the floor, Shades keeps his eyes down, exhales sharply at Mariah’s low, private tone. “Unbutton your shirt at the top.”

Shades obeys; he listens _beautifully_ , follows commands like his body moves without volition. He was built for the role of right-hand man. When they’re on the streets or in the back of the town car, it’s a different story—he’s full of ideas and contradictions, plans and schemes, and they fill silences with the heavy words of two equal minds. But when she gets to her club and assumes her rightful place on her throne, he’s no longer her king—he’s a consort, and he’s meant to be seen and not heard. She likes him both ways, _all_ ways, but he’s especially beautiful when baring the slope of his neck, when his fingers dig into the carpet.

There’s a bruise at the base of his throat, indented sweetly with the marks of her teeth. It sends a burn of arousal throughout Mariah’s entire body, makes her cunt wet beneath her dress. “So quiet now,” she murmurs, sipping her drink. “Someone wised up.”

Shades crawls the rest of the way towards her until he’s at her feet, head still bowed so she can’t see his face. She cups the back of his neck, scratching her fingers at his buzzed scalp. He shivers into it like a cat; _her_ cat, all sleek lines and bristling confidence.

“It’s like every time we walk through those doors,” she says, nodding down towards the neon glow of the club entrance, “we’re meeting for the first time. You always seem to forget that as long as I live, Harlem’s Paradise is _mine_.” She punctuates the last word with the bite of her fingernails below Shades’ chin, tipping his face up to meet her gaze. “This is not your playground. This is not your office. When I speak in this place, you listen, and that’s all.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown, lips pressed in a firm line. “Am I understood?”

Shades inhales sharply, and Mariah can tell he _wants_ to say something. She gives him a sharp slap on one cheek. “Please, if you’re going to say it, you better do it before I lose my patience.”

“You know I have more to offer,” he bites out, cheek turning a nice shade of pink. He nuzzles at Mariah’s knee, a habit he knows makes her weak. “Let me stand beside you here, I can—“

“You can do as I say,” Mariah says, the words hot and slow. Her first instinct is towards anger—anger tinged in defiance at the idea that he could know this club better than she could, especially after all their time together. He may know crime, may get his hands dirty, but she knows _Harlem_. “Baby, there’s no place for you in this room except on your knees.” Shades groans into her skin, face pressed against the inside of her thigh, inching towards her cunt like he’s starving for it. She spreads her legs further for him, urging him to slide his hands up her dress, pull it up around her hips. “When I’m _here_ , you’re _there._ Background noise. You’re nothing more important than the girls dancing down at the Sapphire.”

With one hand on the back of his neck, she pulls him in until his mouth reaches the damp seam of her underwear. He doesn’t need instructions for this—his fingers are shaking as he tugs down her panties, clumsily working them over the spikes of her heels. His bottom lip is bitten red when he buries his face between her thighs, nose bumping against her stomach as he breathes her in, takes in the scent and warmth of her.

“You might as well be charging a buck for a behind-the-glass show in Koreatown,” Mariah continues, breath hitching as he grazes her clit with his thumb. She sets cocktail glass on the table, no longer trusting herself not to spill. “Are you hearing me? Rent a booth down at the Blue Store, show a bunch of strangers that tight ass of yours. In here, _that’s_ what you’re worth.”

A year ago, Mariah would’ve died before thinking of speaking to a lover like this. But Shades isn’t really a lover, and in the end, they’re both killers. Far worse things have been said in Harlem’s Paradise. And Shades _moans_ for it, deep and hot in his throat, a sound he only allows himself in her presence.

He’s thinking of himself stripped bare, a party favor, something that comes free of charge with the two-drink minimum. Mariah will let him think it as long as he’s on his knees.

Shades’ hands grip her thighs tight enough to bruise; his shoulder knocks against the heavy table as Mariah maneuvers him to her liking. He goes boneless for it, a hot mouth with a firm tongue to fuck herself against, nothing more and nothing less. She rides his mouth, her breath hitching, her neck damp with sweat as her orgasm builds.

_My whore_ , she thinks, and even if she doesn’t verbalize it, Shades seems to know. He _always_ knows. His groan is buried in her cunt, the vibrations making her melt into him, and when she comes, it’s easy and slow, nothing so hurried or passionate as previous nights with Shades under the table and her on her throne. This is about _place_ , not love. Her orgasm feels like a release of tension after a long day of too much talking.

“Now,” she says, stroking a hand over the shaved slope of his skull, “come up and sit by me. Let me know what you see.” This is how they end their games—side by side, Shades with his eyes on the room.

He finally looks up at her, eyes glassy, and pulls away from the spread of her legs. His mouth and chin are slick and he’s breathing heavily; Mariah can’t see, but she knows he’s hard as a rock in his sleek black pants. Before he rises, he slides her panties back up her legs, adjusting the lace against her skin, preparing her for her public once more. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse. He kisses her knee, hand stroking down her bare leg.

“Don’t apologize,” Mariah says softly. She rubs her thumb over his bottom lip, stroking away some of her own wetness. “Just be better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nicki Minaj's verse in "Monster."


End file.
